Two years ago, Calvin Trillin wrote an article for the New Yorker about Shopsin’s, an eccentric eatery in the West Village with about 9 billion menu items:

What does happen occasionally is that Kenny gets an idea for a dish and writes on the specials board — yes, there is a specials board — something like Indomalekian Sunrise Stew. (Kenny and his oldest son, Charlie, invented the country of Indomalekia along with its culinary traditions.) A couple of weeks later, someone finally orders Indomalekian Sunrise Stew and Kenny can’t remember what he had in mind when he thought it up. Fortunately, the customer doesn’t know, either, so Kenny just invents it again on the spot.

Shopsin’s has moved to another Village location since the article came out, but they’ve still got that big old menu. If you dare, feast your eyes on a tour de force of outsider information design, all 11 pages of the Shopsin’s General Store menu.

You want chicken fried eggs with a side of pancakes? Page 6. On page 1, there’s gotta be 100 soups alone, including Pistachio Red Chicken Curry. I lost count after 40 different kinds of pancakes on page 10. In amongst the kate, gregg, tamara, and sneaky pete sandwiches on page 2, you’ll find the northern sandwich: peanut butter & bacon on white toast. There appears to be nothing that’s not on the menu, although I looked pretty hard for foie gras and couldn’t find it. If they did have it, you could probably get it chicken fried with whipped cream on top.

On page 8, page 11, and the front of their Web site, you’ll find the restaurant rules:

- No cell phone use

- One meal per person minimum (everyone’s got to eat)

- No smoking

- Limit four people per group

On that last point, the menu has something additional to add (page 4):

Party of Five

you could put a chair at the end

or push the tables together

but dont bother

This banged-up little restaurant

where you would expect no rules at all

has a firm policy against seating

parties of five

And you know you are a party of five

It doesn’t matter if one of you

offers to leave or if

you say you could split into

a party of three and a party of two

or if the five of you come back tomorrow

in Richard Nixon masks and try to pretend

that you don’t know each other

It won’t work: You’re a party of five

even if you’re a beloved regular

Even if the place is empty

Even if you bring logic to bear

Even if you’re a tackle for the Chicago Bears

it won’t work

You’re a party of five

You will always be a party of five

Ahundred blocks from here

a hundred years from now

you will still be a party of five

and you will never savor the soup

or compare the coffee

or hear the wisdom of the cook

and the wit of the waitress or

get to hum the old -time tunes

among which you will find

no quintets

— Robert Hershon

Love it, love it, love it, and I have to get my ass over there one of these days.